It was St. Mary's Eve; and all poured forth,
As to some grand solemnity. The fisher
Came from his islet, bringing o'er the waves
His wife and little one; the husbandman

From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,
Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;
-And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened, -
So great the stir in Venice. Old and young
Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,
Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,
In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the state,
They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,
Whose names are written in the "Book of Gold,"
Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.

At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,
Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;
And never from the first was to be seen

Such splendour or such beauty. Two and two,
(The richest tapestry unrolled before them,)
First came the brides in all their loveliness;
Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed,
Only less lovely, who behind her bore
The precious caskets that within contained
The dowry and the presents. On she moved,
Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand
A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich-feathers.

Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,

Fell from beneath a starry diadem;

And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,
Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;

A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,
Wreathing her gold brocade.

Before the church,

That venerable pile on the sea-brink,

Another train they met, no strangers to them,
Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer;
Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,
And, as he walked, with modest dignity
Folding his scarlet mantle, his tabarro.

They join, they enter in, and up the aisle
Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,
Range round the altar. In his vestments there
The patriarch stands; and, while the anthem flows,
Who can look on unmoved? - mothers in secret
Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters,

Sons in the thought of making them their own;
And they, arrayed in youth and innocence,
Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.
At length the rite is ending: - All fall down
In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together;
And, stretching out his hands, the holy man
Proceeds to give the general benediction;
When hark! a din of voices from without,
And shrieks, and groans, and outcries, as in battle;
And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,

And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,
Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo,
And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold! - Statue-like,
Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,
Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;
Then, as at once recovering from the spell,
Rush forward to the altar, and as soon
Are gone again,—amid no clash of arms
Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.

Where are they now?-ploughing the distant waves; Their sails all set; and they upon the deck

Standing triumphant. To the east they go,

Steering for Istria; their accursed barks,

(Well are they known, the galliot and the galley,)
Freighted with all that gives to life its value!
The richest argosies were poor to them!

EXERCISE CLXI.

SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED.

Now might you see the matrons running wild
Along the beach; the men half-armed and arming;
One with a shield, one with a casque and spear;
One with an axe, hewing the mooring-chain
Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,
But on that day was drifting. In an hour
Half Venice was afloat. But long before,
Frantic with grief, and scorning all control, -
The youths were gone in a light brigantine,
Lying at anchor near the arsenal;

Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,
To slay or to be slain.

And from the tower

The watchinan gives the signal. In the east
A ship is seen, and making for the port;

Her flag St. Mark's

And now she turns the point,

Over the waters like a sea-bird flying!

Ha! 'tis the same, 'tis theirs! from stern to prow

Hung with green boughs, she comes, she comes, restoring

All that was lost!

Coasting, with narrow search,

Friuli- like a tiger in his spring,

They had surprised the corsairs where they lay,
Sharing the spoil in blind security,

And casting lots, had slain them, one and all, -
All to the last,

and flung them far and wide

Into the sea, their proper element;

Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long
Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet
Breathing a little, in his look retained

The fierceness of his soul.

Thus were the brides

Lost and recovered; and what now remained

But to give thanks? Twelve breastplates and twelve

crowns,

Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings

Of the young victors to their patron saint,
Vowed on the field of battle, were ere long

Laid at his feet; and to preserve forever

She was a firm believer in the existence of those spiritual beings with which fancy had peopled every hill and dale, and every running stream, in her native wilds. In her day, the shepherd, while tending his flock, had seen, in imagination, that playful race from fairy land, dancing in the dewy dell, beneath the light of the broad harvest moon; the "brownie" was no unfrequent visitor at the cottage of the peasant, as well as in the hall of the lordly proprietor; the shriek of the "water-kelpie" had been heard amid the rising storm; and the deceitful glare of the Will-o'-the-wisp had often allured the unsuspicious and homeless wanderer to an untimely grave.

In after-years, when Margaret Laidlaw became a mother, it was her practice to amuse her children, during the long nights of winter, with animated recitations from the border ballads: these she would deliver in a strain something between a chant and a song; or she would relate tales of fairy` land or witchcraft, or might, perhaps, thrill the young hearts of her children, by affecting accounts of the death of some unfortunate shepherd, who had perished amidst the snow, when endeavouring to rescue his flock from the wreath under *which they had been buried. But while she thus gave vent to her imagination, she was never forgetful of that which was of still greater importance; we mean the religious instruction of her children: she was in the daily habit of reading passages to them from the sacred volume, and those of a nature which she knew would not only interest, but would also improve, the infant mind.

EXERCISE CXLIII.

LADIES' HEAD-DRESSES, IN 1707. Addison.

THERE is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's headdress. Within my own memory, I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. About ten years ago, it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that the female part of our species were much taller than the men. The women were of such an enormous stature, that we appeared as grasshop

*

*This refers to the commode called by the French fontange, a kind of head-dress worn by the ladies at the beginning of the eighteenth century, which, by means of wire, bore up the hair, and

pers before them: at present the whole sex is in a manner dwarfed and shrunk into a race of beauties that seems almost another species. I remember several ladies, who were once very near seven feet high, that at present want some inches of five. How they came to be thus curtailed I cannot learn. Whether the whole sex be at present under any penance which we know nothing of; or whether they have cast their head-dresses in order to surprise us with something in that kind which shall be entirely new; or whether some of the tallest of the sex, being too cunning for the rest, have contrived this method to make themselves appear sizable, is still a secret: though I find most are of opinion, they are at present like trees new lopped and pruned, that will certainly sprout and flourish with greater heads than before.

For my own part, as I do not love to be insulted by women who are taller than myself, I admire the sex much more in their present humiliation, which has reduced them to their natural dimensions, than when they had extended their persons and lengthened themselves out into formidable and gigantic figures. I am not for adding to the beautiful edifices of Nature, nor for raising any whimsical superstructure upon her plans: I must therefore repeat it, that I am highly pleased with the "coiffure now in fashion, and think it shows the good sense which at present reigns among the valuable part of the sex.

One may observe, that women, in all ages, have taken more pains than men to adorn the outside of their heads; and, indeed, I very much admire, that those female architects who raise such wonderful structures out of ribands, lace, and wire, have not been recorded for their respective inventions. It is certain there have been as many orders in these kinds of building, as in those which have been made of marble. Sometimes they rise in the shape of a pyramid, sometimes like a tower, and sometimes like a steeple. In Juvenal's time, the building grew by several orders and stories, as he has very humorously described it :

"With curls on curls they build her head before,

And mount it with a formidable tower:

A giantess she seems; but look behind,
And then she dwindles to the pygmy kind."

to a

the forepart of the cap,- consisting of many folds of fine lace, prodigious height. The transition from this to the opposite extreme was very abrupt and sudden.